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Chapter 33

And I don't know how you
Get over, get over
Someone as dangerous, tainted, and flawed as you.

— Lana Del Rey, Million Dollar Man

. . . .

The haunting bell for the last class of the day blurts throughout the speakers of the school at exactly two o'clock. The hallways are like a tidal wave – constantly pushing against you in a certain direction and another pushing you the opposite way.

The hype for the dance is becoming too much of an issue for my sanity. If I hear one more thing about it, I'm going to cut my ears off. To say the least, I'm not at all excited for it. The only reason I'm going is because Harris so kindly got me a ticket and invited me. I still don't have a dress, so my last resort is to borrow Annie's sister's dress that she wore when she attended Carnell a few years ago.

Shuffling to my locker, I dial the combination and toss my books in and grab my binder for my last class—Harry's class. I wait till the large group of girls walk in first then follow behind them. When I sit down in my seat in the front row, Harry enters the room from his little office in the back, a black coffee cup in hand with wispy steam floating around the top.

The way his hair is perfectly styled and gelled to perfection and how his clothes don't have any wrinkles on them make me have the shocking realization that he really is over me. He looks like pure perfection while I sit here with my hair in a braid because it wouldn't cooperate, and my uniform on wrong and evidently crooked. I'm an absolute mess.

He briefly looks in my direction then sits down in his chair at the head of the class and stares intently at his computer screen. The girls that I followed into the classroom stand up with the thick yearbooks in their hands.

I had gotten my yearbook last week when they distributed them to our houses and only had the signatures of people that asked me to sign theirs first.

Anyway, the girls giddily glide up to Harry and practically shove the heavy books in his face. All of them simultaneously ask him if he can sign their books, and he has to scoot his chair back to not get stabbed in the nose by the sharp corners of the books.

"Sure, ladies." He picks up his pen from beside his laptop and takes the first girl's yearbook.

The way he smiles up at every girl as they chat with him while he signs their yearbook irks me. His smile was exceedingly bright, and his whole cheerful composure crushes my heart a little bit more.

After signing each and every girl's yearbook, he stands up from his chair and turns on the projector for the Smartboard. Instead of opening the notes, he goes to the Internet and types in Netflix.

"Why aren't we taking notes?" Someone in the middle of the class calls out and Harry looks up from his computer.

"I've decided that we're not going to do anything for the rest of the week considering the dance is this weekend, and I know that there's nothing more that teenagers hate than doing schoolwork the week of a dance," Harry replies. "Of course, if you'd like to take notes, Mr. Smith, I can surely arrange that for you."

The whole class, especially the group of girls with the yearbooks, laugh at his comment, but I stay silent and stare down at the laid out book on my desk.

"Any requests on a movie?" He leans back in his chair, and crosses his ankles on the corner of the desk.

A boy beside me raises his hand and asks, "How about Fifty Shades of Grey?"

"No. I'd like to keep my job."

He picks out a somewhat educational movie despite it being heavily pop-culture based.